


Incognito

by Metal_Chocobo



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Disguise, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8948842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_Chocobo/pseuds/Metal_Chocobo
Summary: Incognito: the only way Daisy could visit the Sherlock Holmes Museum post banning.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kim47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kim47/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Case of the Mysterious Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8876716) by [kim47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kim47/pseuds/kim47). 



> For kim47 (and Sophie the beta) since I never would have thought to write this fic without your story.

The first time Daisy took Hazel to the Sherlock Holmes Museum she complained about the trouser lengths, the replica created furniture that visitors were allowed to sit in, the inaccuracy of the tour guide’s in character Victorian era London accent, and the tacky gift store the museum had shoehorned into the ground floor of the building. Hazel was pleasantly charmed. Oh certainly she found the museum itself to be enjoyable, but mostly she liked watching Daisy’s nostrils flare as she passionately expounded on all the flaws in excruciating detail. Daisy being passionate was always Daisy at her best.

***

The first time Daisy wanted to visit the Sherlock Holmes Museum after she was banned Hazel said no. She was banned and that was that. Her photo hung in a place of honor on their wall of shame, specifically to keep Daisy from fast-talking her way into the building. Hazel wasn’t willing to go along and also get banned simply because her friend wanted to start another argument with the manager. Her father already considered Daisy a bad influence and she didn’t want others labeling them troublemakers as well.

Daisy scoffed at her concerns and pulled a black wig out of her closet.

“I wasn’t about to go as myself, Hazel,” she said, rolling her eyes as if it were an absurd notion. “Holmes was a master of disguise and if I’m visiting his museum, I really ought to pay homage.”

“Don’t you think they’ll recognize you?” Hazel asked, eyeing the wig suspiciously. It was jet black and barely looked like hair. “A fake looking wig will draw more attention than it’ll deflect.”

“Really, now you’re being almost as silly as Nigel Bruce’s portrayal of Watson,” Daisy said airily. “People see what they want to see and, since the last thing they want to see there is me, they won’t. If they see through my disguise than I deserve to be caught.”

Daisy pulled on a set of clothing Hazel had never seen before, despite repeatedly helping her organize her closet. By the time she finished applying a liberal amount of makeup, wholly unlike what she typically wore, Daisy had transformed into a goth. Hazel wouldn’t have looked twice at her on the street, unless she wanted to figure out how all the chains on her jacket connected to the fabric. She certainly wouldn’t have thought it was her best friend.

They visited the museum undetected. However, they were eventually asked to leave, not because Daisy was recognized as a banned personage, but because she started explaining the long term effects of heroin addiction and its effects on the decomposition process in excruciating detail to several visiting children when they pointed out Sherlock’s syringe set. Miss Elvira Parks, which was the pseudonym Daisy gave, was thereby photographed and banned from the museum for disturbing other visitors.

Afterward Daisy treated Hazel to malts in celebration of their visit.

“I’m not exactly certain what we’re celebrating, Daisy,” Hazel said, once her malt was in hand. “You were banned from the Sherlock Holmes Museum again.”

“Ah contraire, Watson, Elvira Parks was banned, not I,” Daisy grinned. It was a slightly unnerving smile, as she was still wearing a pair of fake fangs. “They didn’t see Daisy Wells through my disguise, which means it was a success.”

“I don’t see how being banned, again, is a success,” Hazel stubbornly insisted. The whole point of a disguise was to avoid trouble, not cause new and varying forms of it. “You were supposed to avoid detection.”

“I let Miss Parks get away from me a little,” Daisy shrugged. She took a long pull on her strawberry malt before continuing. “No self respecting goth would allow the chance to describe death and decay in detail get away from them. Next time I’ll be sure to dial things back a little so I won’t be noticeable. Jolly good idea, Hazel, next time I’ll be sure to be someone the Sherlock Holmes Museum won’t look twice at.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Hazel grumbled.

***  
Of course she was wrong. On the next visit to the museum Daisy dressed as a little old lady. Hazel had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes when Daisy insisted on leaning against her for support as they climbed the seventeen steps up to the first floor. The museum staff was incredibly accommodating, even finding a chair for Daisy to sit on while the docent gave his Dr. Watson spiel. Daisy repeated asked him to speak up for her old ears and he increased his volume each time without fail.

By the time the fake Watson finished, he had to shout every line. Daisy had a pleasantly vaguely expression plastered across her face. Her friend’s fake jowls and mask of wrinkles, which almost highlighted the way her bright blue eyes now sunk into her face, impressed Hazel. In combination with the stoop and the fake tremors everyone at the museum seemed to believe Daisy was a nearly deaf geriatric fighting off the beginning of Alzheimer’s. 

The girl at the cash register shot Hazel a pitying look as Daisy tooled around the gift shop. Of course Daisy insisted on picking up the tackiest objects and exclaiming wildly over them as she shoved them in Hazel’s face. These were items that on past visits she had scorned with a burning vehemence. It wasn’t until Daisy was loudly debating what she ought to buy her sisters for Christmas that Hazel realized Daisy had decided this character was her adoptive grandmother.

In the end Daisy really did buy a pair of junior detective kits and a copy of _The Great Mouse Detective_ before they left the museum. It had to be a silent apology for putting Hazel through that torture because they ended up at the post office right after the visit. There they wrapped up the gifts and stuck them in a box addressed to Hazel’s Hong Kong family home. At the last minute Hazel jotted down a short note stating that these presents for the girls were from the both of them because they missed them. Daisy almost refused to sign it—probably for reasons Hazel couldn’t possibly begin to understand—but eventually did just before Hazel lost her temper and started a row.

With the surprise gift in the mail and no noticeable side effects from their trip to the Sherlock Holmes Museum, Hazel felt almost charitable toward Daisy’s current disguise. She magnanimously offered to go out to dinner with Daisy while she continued pretending to be an elderly relative, but Daisy wanted to go straight back to their flat. Apparently her fake face was getting so sweaty she feared it would fall off. Understandably, they swiftly made their way home.

Daisy immediately retreated to the bathroom and Hazel could hear the shower running through the thin walls. When she finally emerged an hour later looking rosy cheeked and utterly herself, Hazel found herself sighing in relief. As brilliant as her friend’s disguises were, Hazel always preferred Daisy to be Daisy. There really wasn’t anyone better.

Clearly they were spending the rest of the night in, if Daisy’s pyjamas were of any indication. So Hazel ordered the usual from their favorite local Indian restaurant, which was the only Indian restaurant to deliver in their neighborhood. She settled on the couch with Daisy to wait for dinner and to pass the time they discussed at length the pros and cons of Daisy’s most recent disguise. Ultimately Daisy decided that her granny disguise was another success, but uncomfortable enough it wasn’t worth wearing unless there was a pressing need.

When their doorbell ran Hazel went downstairs and retrieved their food. By the time she returned Daisy had pulled out the requisite utensils, drinks, and queued up her laptop to continue their current detective show. Daisy was especially enthused about this current show, not because of the mysteries—like most detective shows she could usually suss out the murderer within ten minutes—but because she liked the period piece aspect of the series. Hazel liked the 1920s costuming as well, but she enjoyed the cast interactions and the mysteries more. Daisy despaired over the her sense of mystery.

After dinner Hazel knew she really ought to go back to her room and finish an essay. However, she couldn’t bring herself to get up. Daisy was cuddled into her side murmuring about police procedure and how difficult it would be for the protagonist to walk through the crime scenes in her absurdly high heels. Nothing in her room was even vaguely attractive compared to her current situation, so Hazel was disinclined to move. Eventually, she fell asleep.

When she awoke it was morning. Daisy and the leftovers were gone, but there was now a fleece blanket across her lap. Feeling the crick in her neck from sleeping in a poor position, Hazel stumbled into the kitchen looking for coffee. She had a lot of work to finish before class tomorrow. As she puttered around the kitchen preparing her drink Hazel noticed a box of macarons sitting on top of a DVD case. Upon further investigation she determined the macarons were all champagne flavored and the DVD was the first series of an American Sherlock Holmes show. There was also a note from Daisy.

Watson,

Thanks for assisting with my research. You make an excellent granddaughter in a pinch. Thought you might also like this version of Watson, she seems more competent than most.

Popping one of the macarons in her mouth Hazel curiously picked up the DVD case. Flipping it over she realized why Daisy thought she might like this version of Watson. In this depiction Watson was a Chinese American woman. The comparison was a little on the nose, but Hazel appreciated it nonetheless. She smiled as she carried her coffee, macarons, and TV show into her room. Setting them on the side of her desk, Hazel sat down and got to work.

***

The first time they decided to go to the Sherlock Holmes Museum after they started dating Daisy went as a man. She insisted this was a brilliant challenge for her costuming skills and decided to go for a hipstery-broish look similar to Bertie. Hazel didn’t think she pulled it off as well as he did, his added height and short hair made a noticeable difference for the look, but her fake stubble was fairly impressive. Still, she reserved judgment for the disguise until after she saw Daisy in action. She had become a significantly better actress since joining drama club and often brought the characters to life through sheer force of personality.

The visit went well enough at first. Daisy kept her complaints about the exhibit pieces and museum itself to a minimum, which allowed Hazel to enjoy the expected entertainment. She never visited the Sherlock Holmes Museum without Daisy—which was a little funny as she wasn’t the one banned—and since her friend, her girlfriend, rarely allowed the tour to run uninterrupted, this was a rare treat. Hazel even allowed herself the silly fantasy that despite the cross dressing, Daisy would just let this be a typical date, like the type normal people had. Of course, as soon as she thought this she knew Daisy would start laughing if she ever expressed it. Like Daisy would ever want to be normal.

That was when Daisy decided to detach from the rest of the group. She pushed Hazel into a janitor’s closet to wait until the coast was clear. Hazel crashed into the back wall and nearly knocked a bottle of bleach onto her head, but Daisy caught it before it crashed down. In the dark she couldn’t properly glare at her girlfriend, but she hoped Daisy caught the spirit of the gesture.

“What are you doing, Daisy?” Hazel hissed.

“Be quiet or we’ll get caught,” Daisy whispered back.

Hazel wanted to argue, but she also didn’t want to get caught. Especially since Daisy would sulk for days if she didn’t get to try whatever foolish scheme she had planned before they were thrown out of the museum. So she waited quietly for what felt like hours, but was probably more like twenty minutes, until Daisy decided it was safe to come out of the closet.

Almost immediately Hazel realized they had the exhibit space to themselves. She knew that neither Sherlock Holmes nor Dr. John Watson were real—though people with similar names had indeed lived at 221B Baker Street around the correct time period, Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle’s creations were figments of his imagination—but the exhibit space had filled with so many items over the years from various movies and television shows about the duo that they may as well have existed. It was a real treat to peruse the items at her own leisure without a stuffy guide hurrying her along after a few short minutes. 

Instead, Hazel had Daisy, who excitedly whispered additional information about each piece that seemed to catch Hazel’s fancy. Mostly it was about where the prop had originated, but she also explained at great length what was wrong about it and how the item in question really would have functioned in the Victorian era. Hazel could finally see Daisy putting her studies to great use. When Hazel wondered out loud if she was focusing her history degree on the Victorian era Daisy laughed.

“Hardly Watson, come on you know this is just a hobby,” Daisy snickered. “My thesis is on the development of criminal investigation in Britain. The focus is mainly on declining and post-empire, but I do pay lip service to earlier periods.”

“Is that even really history?” Hazel asked. “My father’s been alive for most of the time you’re talking about.”

“Modern history is extremely important! The way we package and present these events now will dictate and influence our actions in the years to come,” Daisy said firmly. Hazel had a feeling this was the beginning of the argument Daisy gave her professors when she first proposed her research topic.

“Okay, I believe you,” Hazel laughed. “You don’t have to give me the big sell.”

“Good,” Daisy said. Her feathers must have still been ruffled, because she glanced sideways at Hazel as she adjusted her floppy poet’s hat and jumper. “Do you want to hear about why it’s blatantly obvious that violin, which was supposedly played by the real Sherlock Holmes, is at least fifty years too new to have been so?”

“Hmm, maybe later,” Hazel said. 

She reached out and caught Daisy by the jaw, turning her face toward her. Daisy unceremoniously dropped the violin on the nearest flat surface when their lips connected. Normally, this was the last sort of place Hazel wanted to have an impromptu make-out session. PDA wasn’t her cup of tea and she was sure there would be another tour group along shortly, but something about Daisy made her take chances. It had been that way since Hazel first met her almost four years ago.

Things got a little more heated. Daisy pushed Hazel into a wicker chair in the study and slid into her lap. The chair was supposedly the same one artist Sidney Paget used when depicting a seated Sherlock Holmes in a famous sketch, but Daisy had an argument primed against this being the same chair based on discrepancies in the weaving pattern on the chair and what was depicted in the artwork. Hazel cut her off by paying fervent attention to Daisy’s neck. She lightly bit and licked down her throat until she reached a collarbone, which left Daisy moaning. 

Hazel thought she could do better and worked a hand under Daisy’s jumper and blouse. She figured she was doing something right from the way the grip on her shoulders tightened and Daisy shook her head. Then Daisy settled on her lap more firmly and leaned in to capture Hazel’s lips. That pleasant shock Hazel still felt whenever they kissed had turned into a continuous buzz the way it often did when they were left to their own devices at home. As much as she hated to admit it, if they didn’t rein things in soon, they’d probably end up doing a lot more in the Sherlock Holmes Museum than either of them had intended.

“Daisy, stop,” Hazel gasped when she finally twisted away for air. Thankfully, Daisy was just as meticulous in regard to their relationship as she was to her detective work. She stopped immediately and pulled back a little to critically examine Hazel. That also gave them some much-needed breathing space.

“What’s wrong, Hazel?” Daisy asked. “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t like it when I nibble. I know that little yipping noise, which sounds rather similar to a distressed woodland creature, you make means you’re really enjoying the sensation.”

“It’s not that,” Hazel snapped, blushing at Daisy’s unfortunate description of her involuntary noises. At least it left her feeling less amorous. “I simply think we should maybe table our passions until we get home, okay? Daisy, I am not getting banned for having sex in the Sherlock Holmes Museum.”

“But think of what a fun story that would be.”

“Daisy, no,” Hazel said firmly. She slowly pushed Daisy off her. This gave Daisy enough time to find her footing, but also made it clear Hazel wasn’t messing around anymore.

With a groan Daisy eventually agreed it was probably best to head home now. Rush hour would be starting soon and neither one of them needed some sort of sexual depravity or indecent exposure arrest on their record. It would make future dealings with the police much more awkward. So, hand in hand they clambered down the narrow stair toward the museum’s exit. Hazel’s mind was already back at home thinking about what they could get up to when an angry voice shattered her fantasy.

“Oay, you’re not allowed in here! I distinctly remember banning you!” a furious man shouted, attracting the attention of several tourists as well as Hazel and Daisy. It was the manager who had first banned Daisy years ago.

“Whatever do you mean, mate?” Daisy asked, grinning cheekily. She took a step toward him, imbuing her movement with as much swagger as she could. However, the effect was rather ruined by her loose blonde curls running down her back and the smeared black splotches across her cheeks that had once been stubble. Hazel realized they must have lost her hat upstairs and she probably had matching cheeks as well.

“Banned! Both of you are permanently banned!” the manager shouted.

Which was how a photo of a rather embarrassed Hazel with black smudged cheeks ended up on the Sherlock Holmes Museum’s wall of shame beside Daisy’s grinning photo. It rather annoyed Hazel that even in this sort of situation Daisy came out with a literal perfect photo finish, while she looked like a mess. Especially when the staff hadn’t caught her doing anything particularly odious prior to be banned. Although she had to admit the evidence that she had been making out with a banned individual on the premises was compelling.

Daisy tried to make things better, but Hazel was furious for a solid week when her family came to visit and she had to make up an excuse for why she couldn’t take them to the Sherlock Holmes Museum. Daisy’s attempt to pass for her brother went down in the books as a rather stellar failure.

***

“Welcome to 221B Baker Street,” a young man dressed as a Victorian policeman greeted what were obviously a pair of American tourists. The brunette wore an American flag t-shirt with a bald eagle in sunglasses on the front as she clutched her companion’s arm. He couldn’t really tell much of her companion, as a thick scarf obscured the lower half of her face.

“Oh look, Joan, it’s a Bobby!” the brunette squealed. “Isn’t he adorable? I can’t wait to tell everyone back home in Green Bay, Wisconsin, that we met a real old timey Bobby on our honeymoon!”

She eagerly shook her spouse until Joan mumbled something through her scarf that sounded like, “When you’re right, you’re right, Shirley.”

An hour later Hazel and Daisy pulled off their disguises as they left the museum. Daisy quickly stuffed her American eagle shirt into her purse as Hazel rearranged her scarf so that she could breathe comfortably again. She could feel a surge of giddiness in her gut and started giggling, which earned her a curious look from Daisy. Hazel finally had an inkling for why Daisy liked doing this so much.

“You really didn’t have to say we were from Green Bay, Wisconsin, to the entire staff,” Hazel said. “Green Bay or Wisconsin would have done just fine. I’m surprised none of them got suspicious.”

“Eh, I was trying to be as eye-catchingly obnoxious as possible, since you barely dressed up,” Daisy shrugged. “I think it worked. No one paid any attention to you and they all stayed as far as possible from me.”

“I guess you’re right,” Hazel sighed.

“I always am.” Daisy caught Hazel’s hand and pulled her close. “Come on, let’s get some fish and chips then head home. There’s a new Doctor Who episode tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Hazel agreed.

She leaned into Daisy, who easily slipped an arm around her waist. Together they walked to the tube station intent on heading home. After spending years together and solving countless mysteries, Hazel readily admitted enjoying all her adventures with Daisy, however, the simplest ones tended to be her favorite. In Daisy’s opinion nothing was better than sneaking into the Sherlock Holmes Museum incognito once in a blue moon on a lark and now Hazel had to agree.


End file.
